


Minor Missteps Were Made

by cdra



Series: Kinktober 2019 [13]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, Magic Accidents, Mildly Dubious Consent, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, black eagles are lowkey poly, hubert can't not be a fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-14 07:30:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21012062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdra/pseuds/cdra
Summary: Hubert is tasked with helping Bernadetta learn some magic. Things take a bit of a turn, and he decides it's fine to let her learn her lesson the hard way for messing with forces beyond her ability.[Kinktober Day 14 - Tentacles]





	Minor Missteps Were Made

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how I ended up here. I just... I saw "tentacles" and I went completely feral. Somehow I wrote a het fic that isn't femdom and I don't know who I am anymore.
> 
> I actually really like these two together, but this is a bit... it's somewhere between foolish and unholy.

She’s going to die, Bernadetta thinks, staring wide-eyed at the tar-like miasma that spirals up around her feet. She’s going to die, and it’s going to be all her fault, because she messed up some dumb dark magic thing that she _really _shouldn’t have been touching to begin with, and Hubert’s really just going to stand by and watch it happen, isn’t he?

Bernadetta squeals suddenly, unfrozen from her shaking stupor, and stumbles—flails, more accurately—into a heap on the ground. The magic circle she’d conjured is still glowing faintly around her, but there’s all these weird, gross shapes growing up out of it, and she’s pretty sure that wasn’t supposed to happen.

“H-Hubert, what did I _do?!_ And how do I make it _stop?!”_ she squeaks, staring pleadingly up at the man—he’s got his arms crossed, one brow raised behind his bangs, and how is he so _calm _about this?!

“You botched it, clearly,” Hubert says in his level, whisper-like way, drumming his fingers against his upper arm idly. “And after you were so insistent on proving that you could do it, too…”

He sighs through his nose and Bernadetta stiffens, because he’s right, of _course _he’s right—she knew that from the start, even! It was stupid of her to try to do it when Hubert even _said _it would be too difficult for her starting out, but there was something about _how _he said it that made her head get all scrambled and she was doing it before any sort of anxiety or good sense could catch up with her.

“Look where that got you, Bernie,” she laments to herself, “you’ve really gone and done it, this time…” She starts scooting back and away from the tendrils that wriggle their way out of the circle and grab at her ankles. “Hey, get away, you!! What even _are _you?!” Bernadetta all but wails; Hubert frowns tersely at the sharp pitch of her voice.

“A residual collection of energy given form,” he hums analytically, still not at all moving to help her. And why should he, really? If she were actually in danger, _that _would be a reason—but right now, she’s mildly inconvenienced, at best, by the magic coiling its way up her legs. “Goodness… for something utterly mindless, it does _seem _to have a goal in mind…” Hubert puts a finger to his chin in thought; he intentionally pays no mind to Bernadetta’s flailing and whining.

It’s all Bernadetta can manage not to outright _faint _as sticky tentacles of shadow wrap around her wrists and another sneaks under her skirt. She trembles a bit as it slides along her inner thigh; they’re holding her down, keeping her from squirming away despite all her thrashing. “It’s going to kill me,” she mutters aloud this time, staring plaintively up at the ceiling of the old classroom. She gives up and flops like a ragdoll in the thing’s grasp, her life flashing before her eyes. “I’m really gonna die like this… this thing’s gonna eat me, and—”

“It’s not trying to eat you,” Hubert corrects her calmly, a tiny, cruel smirk pulling at his lips—it’s not intentional. “The shape isn’t right, for that. But perhaps…”

The tendril pushes against her underwear and Bernadetta squeaks, sitting up again suddenly as far as she can before it stops her. “Hey, hey, stop it! N-not there!”

Hubert chuckles, and the sound is positively menacing—although Bernadetta knows he doesn’t do that on purpose, it still gives her the chills. “Fascinating,” he steps toward her as he breathes the word; he kneels beside her, inspecting her expression with terrifying casualness.

“Don’t _look_—j-just _do _something about it!” Bernadetta keens pitifully; the thing rubs against her over her panties, and she squirms uncomfortably against it. It should be gross, right? But somehow, it seems to know exactly where she’s sensitive, and it’s actually kind of gentle—or maybe she’s just losing her mind as she’s dying, that would probably make more sense.

“I don’t think I shall,” Hubert says as he seats himself at her back; it’s not the first time he’s touched her or anything, but she shivers at the light drape of his fingers over her upper arm nonetheless. Bernadetta almost swears she can feel the chill of his fingertips through his gloves and her sleeve both as he takes her wrist in hand, just above where the tentacle’s holding her. “We’ll treat this as a lesson, of sorts,” he states more than offers, bemused, as he supports her from behind with ease.

“A _what?!”_ she squeaks, wriggling in place as the appendage between her legs continues to stroke at her pussy through cloth. Some of the others are undoing her dress from behind, too, and she struggles to lift an arm up to keep it from sliding down from her chest. “Horrible! Unfair! This isn’t—”

Hubert, with a fed-up sound, shoves a couple of gloved fingers into her mouth, and Bernadetta sputters at the not-so-pleasant taste of cotton. “Do you ever tire of making such a racket?” he grumbles; in a flash his other hand is on her knee, easing her legs apart. Bernadetta whimpers as she glances over her shoulder and—oh. Hubert’s pupils are dilated and his angular cheeks are dusted pink, and really, the very idea that he can have _color _in his skin and _isn’t _a vampire or something is almost unbelievable, but—he’s actually kind of into this, isn’t he?

It sort of makes sense, in a Hubert-y way. Realizing as much, Bernadetta lets her shoulders sink a little, and tries to steady the leaping of her heart between her ribs. Maybe it’s okay to just… let this happen. Well, she doesn’t have much choice in the first place, but if Hubert’s not planning to let her get eaten or anything, isn’t it okay? A muffled whine passes by Hubert’s fingers as the tentacles slide under the top of her dress. They wind over her chest and she squirms at the cool sensation; Hubert’s other hand glides down her thigh slowly, his touch laden with intention.

“Oh? It seems these things know how to handle you,” Hubert all but purrs as his fingertips reach the damp edge of her underwear. Bernadetta makes some scrambled, shameful sound of disagreement as her skin burns red from her cheeks down to her neck, but Hubert seems unconvinced by it. “Now, now,” he slips her underwear aside as he speaks, “There’s no point trying to deny it when you’re drenched, you know.” His words are dreadfully matter-of-fact; the tentacle pushes against her slit eagerly, and Bernadetta whimpers.

Relaxing is never easy for Bernadetta—she can’t shake the feeling that everything’s about to go wrong even when she _doesn’t _have to think about two sets of hands and where they’re going and all the other dumb, anxious things that come with sex. It’s harder still with the men in the group, and it wouldn’t take too much unpacking to explain why—but the _why _is less important than the simple fact that she _is _shaking under Hubert’s touch, uneasy despite herself, and he isn’t ignorant to it, either.

“Bernadetta,” his voice is calm, yet it sends a shudder up her spine, “if you don’t release some of that tension, it might hurt.” Whether that’s meant to be a reassurance or a threat, he’s right—Bernadetta wiggles in place, a bit of saliva dripping from the corner of her mouth, as his bony, still-gloved fingers carefully spread her folds for the tentacle. She can’t help but question why that makes heat flare in her stomach so—but again, the _why _hardly matters, right now.

The tendril’s not too much thicker than two of her fingers, Bernadetta finds as it wriggles and curls its way inside of her—she whimpers and pants almost dramatically at the sensation, leaning unconsciously against Hubert’s chest. The ones messing around at her chest start to swirl lazily around her small breasts, and the one between her legs shifts and twists experimentally. She thinks she expected it to be rougher with her, more cruel—instead, it’s almost _too _careful, perhaps even _teasing _in its slowness.

Hubert breathes steadily as he watches the slippery appendages move; he hums a bit as they start to settle into a rhythm, but he doesn’t move to do much of anything himself. Rather, he seems almost like a statue holding Bernadetta upright and in place for the tentacles to play with her—he’s cold enough to be one, that’s for certain, she thinks with a strangled huff.

He gives a steady, dark hum and his fingers press a little harder against her tongue. Tears prick unconsciously at her eyes as the tentacle thrusts deeper, knowingly rubbing against her walls in all the ways that make her quiver and moan. “Since you cast it,” Hubert ponders softly, his voice a bit heated, “the spell seems to be cognizant of your body. Almost like it knows what you want...”

Bernadetta’s voice arcs nonsensically despite the fingers still muffling her—it makes her sound more pitiful, but she’s also kind of glad that she doesn’t have to hear what kinds of embarrassing nonsense she’d end up spewing in response to Hubert’s… teasing? Does the man know _how _to tease? Maybe he’s just making observations—she’s not sure if that’s better or worse.

The thoughts swirling around in her head start to melt and stick together the more the tendrils tease at her nipples and thrust into her pussy—and the less she thinks about it, the more it honestly _does _just feel _good_. The heat swells through her body with each coordinated motion, and she’s left whimpering with need as it builds, her head thrown back in an arch of her spine. Hubert merely hums casually at her side, but she can hear his breathing which is _definitely _new—it’s embarrassing, but it’s a little easier to accept that he’s there if he seems… pleased enough, to say it safely, with the situation.

The tentacles pick up their pace a bit, somehow in sync with the mounting pressure in her core. Bernadetta sobs and drool drips down her chin as her head all but goes blank—yet she’s not quite _there _yet, her hips absently jerking and rocking back against the appendage. Just a bit more, a bit more—she clings to the building sensation, holding it close to her chest to keep the worries out of her head a moment longer.

She comes with a jolt, after what feels like forever, cries out so sharply that she’s _sure _someone heard even with Hubert’s hand taking part of the sound. Just like that, the tendrils of magic shudder and dissipate into nothingness, leaving her slumped against Hubert and panting. He draws his fingers out from her mouth and she realizes that her jaw sort of hurts from the pressure—but she welcomes the opportunity to breathe properly through her mouth, trying desperately to cool her lungs from the residual heat.

Hubert chuckles, lifting his other hand to glance at the dampness on his glove. “Not a bad show,” he comments idly, and Bernadetta swears she might perish on the spot from shame.

“Is… was that…” _a compliment?!_, she tries to say, but she can’t seem to catch her breath. Even if it was meant to be one, though—she sort of feels like dying either way, because there's just something _wrong_ about Hubert trying to compliment anyone.

“You were loud, though,” he intones coolly as he shifts. How on _earth_, she wonders with an owlish stare, can he still sound that calm when his dick (his most definitely _hard _dick, mind) just bumped against the small of Bernadetta’s back?! Yet he pays it no mind at all, just fiddling with the back of Bernadetta’s dress as he pulls the article back into place. “Perhaps no one heard… regardless, let’s not be caught out of sorts, or a worse fate may befall us.”

Bernadetta leans forward a little to make it easier for him. “Uh… thanks,” is what she manages to say, but what goes through Bernadetta’s mind is something closer to _“so says the guy with the raging boner”_—not that she could say something like that aloud, much less to Hubert, of all people.

“If we try this spell again,” Hubert’s tone is a bit smug—laden with scheming, really, “let’s pick a better location for it.”

“Uh… uh-huh,” Bernadetta stammers uselessly, wondering what she’s gotten herself into.


End file.
